


The Power of Deduction, or, Sometimes Magic Loses

by Jane Z Tiana (Jane_Z_Tiana)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cross-Post, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Z_Tiana/pseuds/Jane%20Z%20Tiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's going to be an exciting year at Hogwarts as the Boy Who Lived, Neville Longbottom, is about to start his first year there. But Sherlock won't allow him to be very famous. Sherlock Holmes is a Hogwarts student, a pure-blood Slytherin wizard. And he is going to find some adventures and some crimes to solve for himself and his friends. His loyal John won't leave him even though they're wizards now, but wouldn't he prefer to be friends with Hermione?<br/>Sherlock will not allow us to get bored!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Deduction, or, Sometimes Magic Loses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caya/gifts), [Carol the Dabbler](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Carol+the+Dabbler).



> You are brilliant betas and wonderful women, thank you!

A tall, handsome boy in a not very expensive but tasteful suit, sat looking out a window with a small attache case on his lap, waiting for the train to pull out. He had elegant features: penetrating grey eyes, dark unruly curls, sharp cheekbones, and a porcelain-pale face.

The train was the Hogwarts Express, and the boy was Sherlock Holmes, a wizard. He should have been proud of his ancestry but for some reason he was not. The Holmes family was very great and pure, it could only be compared to the Moriartys. Sherlock knew it but yet he wasn't proud. That fact made him respectable only in the magic world. But magic was disgusting to Sherlock. Magic was those ridiculous wavings of a wand, meaningless words of spells... It was silly. He liked potions. But even more than potions he liked a brainwork. He did something quite unusual for a wizard. 'Observation and deduction' as he liked to call it. Sherlock observed a man, and then, with the help of some incredible deductions, could tell all sorts of extraordinary things about him. Mother had thought that he had found some spell for that in the library (they had a large one in the house) and had learnt how to cast it. So she had assumed he just used magic, but his elder brother Mycroft's abilities were even more pronounced, however, as was the ability to convince mummy. So, finally she agreed that this activity was fully unmagical. This was the reason she teased Sherlock. She asked Sherlock to be at least a bit like his brother. Of course, Mycroft didn't develop his talent; he would have loved doing nothing but sitting in his silly underground office at the Ministry. Fortunately, Sherlock was not like him.

The compartment door slid open and a boy with a trace of lipstick on his cheek and a huge suitcase dashed into Sherlock's compartment.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Sherlock only shrugged. A girl with bushy brown hair followed the boy. She said,

“Everywhere else is full.”

Sherlock muttered, “Of course, because you took so long to look for a seat”, and nodded.

The girl asked Holmes to help with her luggage. He pulled his magic wand out of his pocket. It was long and thin, like its owner. Although it had been Sherlock's since he was five, it was well-kept. Its dark wood was clear and shiny. He whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa”. The suitcase gently jerked and gracefully slipped up, right on the shelf. Sherlock stood up, slightly bowed and held out his slim hand in a leather glove to the girl.

“Sherlock Holmes”.

“Oh, thank you! My name is Hermione Granger”, the girl smiled.

“Not at all.”

“Can you help with my bag, too?” the boy moaned.

"Young man", asked Sherlock, turning on his heel, "you are pure-blood, aren't you? Is it so hard to learn the simplest spells?” He easily and smoothly put this bag on the shelf too, and then held out his hand to the boy.

“John”, he clumsily shook the hand.

The children sat down and awkward silence fell over the compartment. Only Sherlock didn't feel uncomfortable in this regard. He was calmly looking out of the window. Hermione stared at Sherlock. John cautiously glanced at the strange wizard too. A whistle sounded and John decided to break the silence:

“Well, let's get acquainted.”

“I am satisfied with the status quo”, Sherlock remarked coldly.

“Why are you?” asked Hermione.

“Because I know a lot about you, but you know nothing about me. Who would not like it?”

“And what do you know about me?” John asked saucily.

Sherlock's eyes just sparkled.

“A lot. Your mother's about forty years old; she is squattish and plump and has a several children. You are not rich. You've not studied before school. You dream about Gryffindor. You are John Hamish Watson, the fifth son of Arthur Watson. And he, as I recall, works for the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

“How have you done that?” the girl asked suspiciously, “is that any sort of magic?”

“Disgracefully, young lady” Sherlock smiled ironically, “I've done it disgracefully easy. It is obviously when you can think a bit.”

Hermione pushed her lips angrily and opened her mouth to say something but John interrupted her.

“Explain”, he knitted his brows.

“Readily”, said Sherlock “Age and physique are easy to identify: this lipstick color (John went pink and began to remove the trace from his cheek) works only on this sort of women. According to the trace, it was done in a hurry. Now we have two conclusions. The first one is that you're a pure-blood wizard. It is not the way Muggles kiss children: either they don't kiss at all, or they do it more carefully. The second conclusion is that the first-year students are not late. It is a significant event, you know. It means that the family has many children. Your wand”, said Sherlock, pulling it out of John's pocket “is very battered, but you don't know magic at all”, John looked at him resentfully and Sherlock added, “or almost at all. So, it is your brother's, isn't it? Unicorn hair and ash-tree, good choice, but it isn't your character. By the way, I think, it was Charlie's wand. You have your brothers' old robes, wand, case... You are not rich. And you don't show off your blood; you haven't even learned some simple spells. So, what do we have? Some not rich pure-blood family with many children and a squattish and plump mother, which is not proud of their blood? No doubt, it is the Watsons.”

"Nice deductions”, said Hermione, “but his father is working in the Ministry of Magic, like your parents, I suppose, so you could have heard something before about John and just recognised him. What can you say about me?”

“Okay, that is smart”, Sherlock noticed, “I can't say so much about you, but you still will be excited.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You, Miss Granger, as I can see, are a Muggle-born. You're diligent and accurate. You read all the books from cover to cover. Your parents maybe are dentists. They are happy that you are a witch, but they hardly understand that. Look at your iPhone; the model is new. They bought it when they found that you're going to Hogwarts. But they did not understand that it's better to buy an owl or some magic book, or something interesting in Diagon Alley. You have a wand made of a dragon heartstring core, like mine, and the wood... It's probably elm, or...” he began to doubt, “...vine wood, yes, it's vine wood, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is vine wood”, Hermione was confused, “but you haven't even seen it!”

“Oh, my wand can do that. I have tuned it to help me with determining wands. I did that when I was a child, eight years old, and an apprentice at Ollivander's.”

"Have you worked at Ollivander's?”

“Well, I worked, studied or something ... I don't know what to call it. We had some important visitors at the house. They were Cornelius Fudge and Rita Skeeter... I hate them. My brother is a good boy, but Mr. Holmes was afraid that I could ruin everything. He thinks that my behaviour is bad for the family's reputation. You know Miss Skeeter, she would write something about me... you're pure-blood, John, so you should read the Daily Prophet; do you remember that 'blowing-up-rooms-creature in the Holmes house' article?"

"No..." said John, "did you do that on purpose?"

  
"No, no, I didn't", said Sherlock, "I just tried to make one complicated potion and it went wrong a bit. I planned one room, not half of the house." John giggled. "On purpose was the time I made all the dishes on the dinner table fly away. But that was Miss Skeeter's fault. Calling me 'sweetie' was a bad idea. So Mr. Holmes said that I should spend this time usefully. Ollivander is my father's old friend. So, he looked after me.”

"Didn't that old coot drive you crazy?"

“He isn't an old coot, he is a genius! And he's a very nice man. We had a great time. I even refused to return home; I stayed for a year.”

"It was bad at home, wasn't it?"

“No, it wasn't at all. It's just that mother and father are Mr and Mrs Holmes to me. That's all. I'm used to it”, Sherlock said sadly. “By the way, Ollivander said I'm talented, but my brother took me out of there, saying that I'm too prone to dramatic effects to live out my whole life whittling sticks.”

“Fantastic!” said John.

“It's easier than magic. But at home that was heresy."

Hermione looked at Sherlock questioningly.

“It's Slytherin, Hermione!” John shrugged.

"Hm, at first I thought that you were half-blood", Sherlock smiled slightly.

"Oh, thank you", it looked like Hermione was really flattered.

"No, no, don't think that was a compliment. I don't do that with girls. And stop looking at me in that way", Sherlock said a bit crossly.

"Okay," said Hermione, glancing at him now and then, "and that's not fair, Sherlock! Tell us about yourself!”

“What about me? I've known almost all the teachers since childhood. I have an elder brother; thank god he is sitting in the prefects' compartment, so I can have some time without his brainwashing. You ought be glad too, I swear. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are terse and lordly; they are a classic pure-blood Slytherin family. In fact, I would say they are even worse. Oliver Wood taught me how to play Quidditch. The most boring thing in my childhood was memorizing all our family tree ... But thanks to that I know almost all the magical families in England, and even some of the European ones.”

“That's cool”, said John.

“Maybe”, said Sherlock, pulling his 'BlackBerry' out of his pocket.

“There is no Wi-Fi here”, Hermione pointed out.

“I have it. That is Lily's go-to-Hogwarts present: she invented the spell that magically provides wireless connectivity.”

"I heard that Neville Longbottom will go to school this year", said John after some time.

"The Boy Who Lived?" wondered Hermione, "I believe I've read something about him."

  
"Yes", said John, "what do you think about it, Sherlock?"

  
"What do I think about Longbottom or about the fact that he goes to school? The second fact is obvious, I think, the first is more interesting. Mr Holmes says that he is a stupid show-off. I think that whatever he is he somehow killed Voldemort and it is good."

  
"Have you just said You-Know-Who's name?!" asked John, gasping.

  
"Voldemort-Voldemort-Voldemooooooort" Sherlock sang, looking at the phone.

  
John shuddered "What do you think about it, Hermione?"


End file.
